Measure for Measure
by Hikari no Chibi
Summary: An Enchanted Forest AU. What if the Dark One never turned up for Belle's deal? Obviously they would meet in a Shakespeare-inspired dystopian theocracy set in Nottingham. Obviously. Prepare for a Rumbelle love story of political intrigue and a lot of religious themes (not all of them nice). Written for WestCoastMalone in the Rumbelle Secret Santa.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The imp despised Nottingham – both the city and its Sheriff – and, worse still, he didn't care that Sir Guy knew it. They were nothing to him, a technicality of proximity pushed aside and easily forgotten, until everything began to fester and swell. Now, faced with an oozing pustule ready to burst, the Dark One stood ready to lance them.

The largest settlement in Sherwood Forest passed under the shadow of the Dark One as an unfortunate side-effect of the deal that bought him King Richard's Summer Castle – the Dark Castle, they called it now. The smattering of villages in the Sherwood operated well enough with or without the Dark One looming over them, but Nottingham… Nottingham required administration, law, and justice - a steady head to wear the crown.

Some looked to the Dark One himself to fulfill the tasks of their errant monarch, and that only exacerbated things further. The Church hated the Dark One, the Dark One hated the people, half the people wanted to seat Rumplestiltskin on the throne – Sir Guy included, if only to drive out the Blue Brothers – and the other half railed that he was a phony king. Between their taxes and tithes, many people had been reduced to living in the streets – and more refugees poured in every day.

Trouble was the only thing Sherwood had in plenty these days, but the Dark One didn't care to hear about the impenetrable complexity of it all. He only wanted the thief responsible for stealing a parcel intended for the Dark Castle.

The corner of the imp's eye twitched, and the beginnings of a frown etched itself in his mottled skin. "Explain to me again, dearie, how the thief escaped you and your men?"

"Sherwood Forest is too thick, my Lord," the Sheriff groaned, "and the men are frightened. Every day, more leave the City Watch and take up the Blues - everyone knows that the Crusaders guarantee room and board in addition to the coin they pay. Between my green men, your Dark Castle, the Infinite Forest, and the Forbidden Mountain, it's a wonder I can get them out of the city at all – never mind onto the Castle Road. What chance would a city lad have lost in that country?"

"Then how do you propose to recover my property?" asked the Dark One, his tone gone from child-like exuberance to deadly sobriety in the space of a moment.

Sir Guy swallowed back bile as his fingers ghosted over the comfortable edge of the flask concealed at his hip. A drink would help bolster his nerves, if he survived this encounter, and then – somehow – it would be alright again. When he made no answer, the Dark One continued without him.

"The Hood is a common highwayman. He took something that belongs to me, and I intend to return the favor by removing something of his. A hand, maybe. Every nobleman who braves the Castle Road seems to stumble upon our thief, and – amusing as that is – it seems to me that you and your men are the only people alive capable of walking into the forest and not tripping over one of them. Our deal was simple: you give me the name of the Hood and I continue my protection of your miserable, little kingdom. I'm losing patience."

"My Lord," the Sheriff begged, "I have done everything in my power to fulfill my end of the bargain. What use is it to demand that we track this criminal when you yourself cannot find him?"

"I could find him if you'd do your job and discover his name! _The Hood did it! The Hooded Man robbed me!_" he prattled on in a chilling falsetto. "Without the name he is nothing – a myth, a legend. Find the man beneath the Hood, dearie, or suffer the consequences. You've got three days, Sheriff, then I'll begin searching on _my_ terms, and you might not like the methods."

"But the people love him!" Guy groaned. "Nottingham conceals him at every turn, only to have him vanish into Sherwood the moment we think we've cornered him. If King Richard were permitted to return, then perhaps the people would—"

"Your King," sneered the Dark One, "traded me his castle for a magic sword and a few tips on slaying Ogres. I'm not preventing his return, he can come and go as he likes, so long as he leaves the Dark Castle to me. Tell your people to go to the Frontlands and volunteer for Ogre fodder if they're so eager to be reunited with him. Otherwise, they better stay out of my way."

The imp's rage was terrible – cold and cutting, full of fits and ticks that animated his monsterous hands – but his laughter was worse. Guy only managed to stammer as he tried not to shake too badly.

"Now, now, Sheriff, don't be frightened. I am not an unreasonable man. I simply value my things! I will do what I can to hasten the hunt. And, because I am the very spirit of generosity, the only price I'll charge you _this time_ is the successful return of my property."

He fell silent then, palms facing outward from his eyes, concealing the huge, blood-shot monstrosities, and said nothing.

"Should… should I go?" the Sheriff whispered.

"Silence!" the demon hissed at him, then he stilled again. "I've glimpsed our thief in shadows and broken reflections, through the mists. He'll be at the Nottingham jail in three days. I couldn't say under what circumstances, but he _will_ be there, understand? I expect you to succeed."

"But how will I recognize him?"

"That, dearie, is entirely your problem," Rumplestiltskin giggled and he vanished from the armory.

Sir Guy nearly collapsed from relief, pawed his flask free, wiped the sweat from his brow, and poured the strong spirits past his lips. He needed more time, more resources, and for the people to cease their hero-worship of the bandits. He needed Marian and to run a cold sword through Loxley. He needed more whiskey.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye, and Guy spun on his heel, spilling and sputtering away the last of his drink.

"Shit!" he swore, awkwardly drawing his sword and pointing it at the blue-hued image in the mirror.

"Is that any way to greet a Queen, Sheriff?" the beautiful woman asked him.

"Your Majesty, I – how are you here? _Why_ are you here?" He bowed twice in rapid succession.

"Oh, just keeping an eye on dear, old Rumple," she smiled. "It seems you and I may have a common goal, Sir Guy: a bandit robbing from the rich and instigating rebellious acts in the poor… sound familiar?"

"Is it… do you think Hood could be traitor Princess?"

"So you've seen my wanted signs," she teased, tossing her hair. "You heard Rumple – and he's never wrong – she'll be in the Nottingham jail three days from now. But she's cunning, murderous, and more difficult to capture than you can possibly imagine. So I propose a deal: you provide me and my men with full access to the prison, castle, and streets, and I'll do all Rumple said and more. I'll open up trade agreements with your towns. I'll make you a hero. And I'll rip the heart from the one who betrayed you."

"No! No, please, not Lady Marian. But Loxley… Loxley," he spat the name bitterly. "You'll get rid of him for me?"

The Queen vanished from the mirror, and Guy feared that he'd offended her. He slouched a fraction of an inch before she re-appeared next to him in a cloud of purple smoke. Through the glass, in shades of blue and amethyst, she'd been beautiful; in life, with raven hair, smooth skin, and blood-red lips, that beauty verged on the terrible.

"I'll do you one better," she purred, voice sweet as honey. "I'll help you utterly destroy every shred of happiness he ever had."

"And Marian will love me again?"

"Why Sir Guy, everyone will love you. You're going to be wonderful," she smiled.

Guy grinned and kissed her perfect hands. "Yes, my Queen. Send in your men."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Rumplestiltskin's skin tingled at the intrusion of genie magic in the atmosphere. Regina grew bolder and more vicious, her month as a peasant had served him well, but her cruelness combined with the Sheriff of Nottingham's incompetence did not inspire much confidence. More than he wanted to sit back and watch them destroy one another, he wanted his wand back. Across the dunes in Agrabah, an aspiring sorcerer would simply have to wait; the Dark One had more pressing matters in front of him.

Rumplestiltskin vanished from the castle, into the shade of a Nottingham street full-to-bursting with rabble. He looked around at the unfamiliar faces and clothed himself in the brown, coarse-spun robes of a wandering Friar; no one ever questioned the presence of an extra mendicant in the crowd. Rumple completed his disguise with a flourishing glamour, concealing his eyes, skin, and teeth behind a thin sheen of magic. Glimpsing his face – fuller, more haggard, complete with baldpate – he doubted that even Regina would recognize him until he jumped up and grabbed her.

The city gates of Nottingham stood tall and bleak, its walls crumbling in places, and the deteriorating town square – mean to be a village green, he was sure – sat nestled between the city gate and the gate to the royal courtyard. Houses and shops lined either side to the left and right of him, with scores of alleys and warrens branching off and circling the keep. Rumplestiltskin wandered the streets until he passed into the shadow of a high tower at the rear of the motte wall and found himself standing at the edge of the marketplace.

"Who are all these people?" the Friar asked a passing merchant, peddling apples guaranteed to have no fewer than three weevils apiece. "These lands were sparsely populated by old women, children and widows when the King took his armies to war."

"You must have been gone for a long time, Friar," the man answered. "It's been a dog's age since I saw a man of the Old Faith in these parts. Richard's not King here anymore—"

"A pox upon the Phony King!" a wrinkled washer-woman passing near enough to hear interjected, spitting at the ground beneath the merchant's feet. He ignored her.

"These lands belong to the Dark One now," the merchant continued. "Or the clergy. Take your pick. The people are refugees."

That he'd bargained for Nottingham in exchange for making its King victorious over the Ogres was a misnomer; his deal entitled him only to the Dark Castle. If the Sherwood felt that it belonged to him, it happened merely as a technicality of Richard's abandonment. Legally, the kingdom's government, sans monarch, fell to the next-most-senior member of the King Richard's High Council. But naturally, Richard had need of his strategists, metallurgists, healers, and sorcerers on the battlefield. What he'd no need of were clerics, and that left Nottingham almost exclusively at the command of the Sheriff and the Church.

And a smashing job they'd done of it, too, if Rumple were any judge. Broken men lined the streets and crowded the alleys, bodies pressed thick over cobbles in ill-repair, and the whole place stank of rot.

"Seeking refuge from what?"

"Well, the Ogres, for a start. How long has it been since you left the abbey, Friar? Cities are collapsing all up the seaboard in King George's lands, unless Richard and his men arrive in time to defend them. And even then, there's not much left by the time they're done."

"Do they think Richard's going to come home and save them?" Rumple asked incredulously.

"No, not especially. It's just that the Ogres don't come here – haven't since the new King arrived. The Sparks say Ogres are the men he corrupted, the ones who made deals with him, and that's why they obey his orders to stay away. Older stories say the Dark One walked out into a raging battle in the First Ogre Wars and it just stopped; that they remember not to stray into his path like a horse that gets whipped."

"People like to talk about things they know nothing about," growled Rumple. If they were wise, they wouldn't tell too many stories of the Dark One's origin. Some secrets needed to be kept at all costs, and Rumplestiltskin kept his mercilessly. "What else are they saying?"

"More than my life's worth to repeat all of it, Friar," he leaned in to whisper. "They say Queen Regina murders her own small-folk, whole villages at a time; they say the Blue Star herself talks to the High Spark when he visits the privy – I swear by the Stars, she does! – my sister's mother-in-law hears a woman's voice in there, sometimes, when she comes to collect the wash; They even say there's a Lady who danced so beautifully for an Ogre that he wept for joy."

"Rot and nonsense," grumbled the Friar.

"Aye, mostly. But here's a fact: Nottingham's the last place free of Ogres this side of the mountains, but her people are hungry. If you Brown Friars have any notion of charity, we'd thank you for it. Elsewise, you'd best go back to your abbey. It's a hard world out here for a beggar."

"And what of this Hood fellow I've heard mentioned?" Rumple asked, proffering a small coin for the least offensive apple in the bushel.

"You mean the Merry Men? Squatters and poachers, the lot of 'em, but they don't dare steal from the likes of me, praise the Stars! Poor Sheriff Guy has no end of trouble off 'em. Ha, my boy says they stole the sapphires off the High Spark's shoes last week!"

It was on the tip of Rumple's tongue to ask about the man's son, but a large procession led by shouting men in indigo tunics, brandishing spiked maces spared him the burden of remembering. The Crusaders began to clear the marketplace, and Rumplestiltskin melted through the stinking press of bodies to a more secluded place.

He spent the night in the streets, listening to the collective groans of a city over-burdened. The rabble fought one another over stale loaves, made their homes with three or four families pressed into each cottage, and cleared the streets for none but the priests in their blue, embellished robes. They existed as a veritable rat-warren, a breeding-ground for thieves and plague. A generous liege would simply have fed them in exchange for turning over the Hood and his gang. Why hadn't the Sheriff done it already?

Rumplestiltskin pulled the hood of his robes down, close to his face, and shuffled slowly toward the castle gate. Some time in the night, the unmistakable presence of Regina's Queensguard had arrived, swarming the castle walls and streets. She had probably already made herself comfortable in Richard's throne room.

To call the place a palace was a disservice to the grandeur and battlements of the Dark Castle, yet the Nottingham castle – complete with a feasting hall and manor house – was a vast improvement on the rustic motte-and-baily mud-heaps favored by minor nobles and hedge knights of smaller villages. It had, once upon a time, functioned as King Richard's winter home and municipal seat.

Nottingham grew up around the castle, engulfing her and putting up walls of her own, and then over-flowing those and spilling out into cleared woodland farms and huts. The castle and city were older even than Rumplestiltskin's reckoning.

As he approached the gatehouse, a voice accented with the rolling lilt of the East echoed out of an alley behind him. And, as such things are wont to do, the shape of the future shifted and warped around that otherwise inconsequential point. For Rumplestiltskin, coincidences did not exist; he spun on his heel, intrigued.

"Belle, please, you're the only one he'll listen to," the voice begged. "He arrested Robin in the market for _adultery_. You know he's an idiot Marian's concerned, but she can't be moved yet. She's too weak."

"We're running out of time!" a man's voice interrupted. He sounded low and soft, like the squat, rolling hills and hard labor on a farm. "The Queen's Huntsman was spotted inspecting the prison this morning, and her guards are everywhere in the streets. You know what they say of Queen Regina: she'll rip the heart from every man, woman, and child she meets until she finds Snow White. They'll kill him, Belle."

"But what does Snow White have to do with us?" the other – Belle – asked after taking some time to think. The tone of her voice came softly, dulcet and exotic – though more familiar than the first woman's – but without the mushy, slouching pronunciation of the man; it was not an accent that Rumple would soon forget.

"They think she's the Hood," replied the first woman. "That's what started this madness. Hood stole something meant for the Dark One, and Sir Guy's been tasked with recovering it."

"Then give it to him!" the Sister hissed under her breath. Rumplestiltskin had not anticipated her ferocity, and edged in for a closer look. She wore the plain, sky-blue habit of a novice, modest and cheaply made, with a green paisley cloak. Her chestnut curls had been pinned up, atop her head.

"We, um, don't know what it is," murmured the man, shaking his head of messy, brown curls. His face was obscured, in part by shadow and in part by a thick beard, but his features appeared genial and broad. "We don't steal magic, it always comes with a price and no good ever comes of it. Well, I don't have to remind you about what happened with Will Scarlet. None of the Merry Men would have touched it, if they'd known what it was. But, if there really was magic stolen, the Phony King's the last villain I'd want having it."

"John Little, you go back there this instant and you tell them to figure out what he wants!" the Sister insisted, and the man looked suitably cowed, meekly promising to return to the camp as soon as possible. Finally, something Rumple could work with.

"I'm not even supposed to be out of the Cloister," the young novice continued. "Do you have any idea what will happen if the Sparks find out I'm involved with matters concerning the Dark One? I have to take my vows in two days."

"You're the only one who can help, Belle. You've the right as a Lady to beg his mercy," the taller of the two – raven-haired and clad in segmented armor – stated factually. She spoke like a soldier accustomed to being obeyed. "And failing that, you've the right to petition the Queen directly."

"You're the smartest person I know, Belle, and the only one of us Guy would listen to," the large man told her. "The Sheriff is hardly my favorite person, but even he doesn't deserve to fall afoul the Evil Queen and the Phony King all in the same week. What's one more waltz with the devil to you?"

"That was different. You know that was different."

Rumplestiltskin was intrigued. Usually when people spoke of devils and demons, they were talking about him, but he would have remembered a dance with a woman like that, wouldn't he?

"You're not asking me to tip-toe through the darkness," she continued. "You're asking me to march right up to Sir Guy in broad daylight and calmly tell him to forgive his rival. Then I've just got to convince him to defy the Queen and fail the Dark One. It would take a miracle."

"Don't think like that," the soldier hushed. "If the Dark One could find us, he'd have done it. We're safe for now, but Robin and all those people in the jail won't be. The Princess Snow isn't here. What's the Sheriff going to do when Queen Regina executes all his prisoners and comes up empty-handed? He needs our help, and we need his. You can do this, Belle."

"If the Sparks find out—"

"Fuck the Sparks," the man swore, and the two women gaped at him, looking around frantically to make sure he hadn't been heard.

"Fuck them," the man repeated. "They're not the law here, no more than the Phony King is. When King Richard returns…"

"He's not coming back, John," the Sister said sadly. She looked pensive for a moment, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "Not soon enough to help us, at least. But you're right, no one deserves that fate. I will try to help."

The other two thanked her profusely, and the trio made their way toward the gate. The Friar followed, a plan already taking shape. They would lead him to the Hood, that much was plain to see, and when the prophesized time came, he would be able to return to the jail and identify the thief.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Now don't be shy of putting your hands on his arms a bit," John counseled. "And it never hurt to bat your eyelashes and tighten your bodice a little. Give him a good show, you—"

"John, that's horrible. Besides, he loved Marian, not me," Belle chastised.

"He loved the ladies, generally. Nothing immodest, just a little… perk-up," the large man reiterated. "You've been wearing that habit for too long, Belle. Remember what your assets, uh… remember to play to your strengths. Guy's always had a weak spot for a pair of fine… uh, for a Lady's graces."

"It's the habit or nothing," she primly told him, and immediately regretted it when Little John choked back a chuckle and indicated that 'nothing' might be the better option.

The entered the castle together, ushered in through a rusting portcullis and murder-hole, past the stables and smithy with a small group of visitors and vendors. A very few carried wares to peddle at the manor house, but most arrived with what little food they could spare for friends and family members in jail, and one man – a Friar, Belle surmised – brought nothing but the robes on his back. Perhaps the prisoners would find peace with a man of the Old Faith in a way that many simply could not with the Blue Star. After all, the Church was the reason half of them were in here since sinning became a crime.

Once, when she toured these lands in her youth, the castle sported scores of soldiers drilling on the cobblestones, and merchants, diplomats, and minor nobles with interests in the Sherwood gathered before King Richard to negotiate trade agreements. If the weather was particularly good, some claimed you could see all the way to the other end of the Infinite Forest from the top of the Old Watch Tower, at the rear of the compound.

But none of the old splendor remained now, and the only troops to be found wore either the red shirt and embroidered collar of the Sheriff's men – the City Watch – or, more commonly, the blue tunic and spangled cloak of the Blue Brotherhood's Crusaders, armed with morningstars meant to resemble wands. It comforted her, once, to know that the Crusaders stood ready to defend Sherwood, but that illusion shattered when she'd been forced to choose between Purification or her people starving.

The Sparks were not known for their mercy, but Sir Guy might still see reason.

Mulan and Little John left her with the castellan and went to seek-out Robin. She didn't wait long; Sir Guy summoned her to the throne room – now dusty, save for the scrolls and maps strewn about banqueting tables dragged in from the Grand Hall – and he seemed almost pleased to see her.

"What can I do for you Sister," Sir Guy smiled, "looking for another waltz?"

"I'm not a Sister yet, Sir Guy. I take my vows the day after tomorrow."

"It isn't too late to tell the High Spark no, you know. I could keep you safe." It was an offer he'd made before, deep in his cups, though the stipulations had been rather more intimate.

"But not my people," she smiled sadly. "You couldn't protect them, there are too many."

A political marriage to someone powerful enough to take in six score of penniless refugees would have suited Belle just as well as the Sisterhood, and she would even have accepted Sir Guy – even knowing that he would never love her as he did Marian – if it meant that her people had food and firewood for the winter. He would not have been so much worse than Sir Gaston, not really. But only the Blue Brotherhood had those kinds of resources at their disposal, and it had been Belle's decision to make.

"No," the Sheriff agreed. "But it's not as though you owe them anything. You're not their liege anymore." He wrapped his hand around her arm and drew her close.

"I am still a Lady, at least for two more days, and I would thank you to treat me as such. Losing my lands does not lessen my responsibilities."

Guy laughed, and Belle could smell the scent of stale beer on his breath. She looked at him then – really looked at him. His skink clung to his frame like wax, sallow and sloughing from losing too much weight, and his eyes appeared sunken. She could tell that his could do with a wash.

"Then what do you want, my _Lady_?" he asked, adding a mocking little bow to the end of the phrase.

"I want you to spare Robin's life."

"Loxley," the Sheriff snarled, "Is in no danger from _me_. If he's guilty of adultery, that's for the Sparks to decide. He stole my fiancée, he stole my Marian from me. It's in the hands of the Stars."

"And what of Queen Regina? Is he safe from her? Guy—"

"_Sir_ Guy."

"_Sir_ Guy, please have mercy. Half of the men and women in that jail are there because they can't pay their tithes—"

"Taxes," he corrected.

"It's the same thing!" Belle snapped. It was, too. The Church set the laws now, almost entirely unopposed, and the Church determined how taxes should be calculated and utilized; they were the ones who made it illegal not to tithe. There is no price too high to save our Immortal Souls, the High Spark liked to say, but most had much rather a fully belly tonight than an eternity in paradise.

Sir Guy rolled his eyes.

"The people are terrified," Belle said. "They're saying that the Queen is looking for Snow White, and that she'll kill anyone who happens to be in the way. Perhaps some of the people in the cells do deserve to die for their crimes, but Robin doesn't. The poor don't. You must see that this can only end in tragedy."

"If they're so innocent, the poor should stop helping the Hood and his band of highwaymen."

"The Merry Men are the only thing keeping some of them alive. I'm not suggesting that we make thievery legal, I know what they're doing is against the law, but what you're asking of the people is impossible: a choice between starvation or crossing Queen Regina is no choice at all, Guy. You're not a murderer." Belle could feel tears pricking at her eyes. They'd been friends once, or friendly. Desperation did terrible things to people.

"This is so much bigger than Robin of Loxley," she pressed on, "And you know it. Everyone in the prison – everyone in Nottingham – is at risk right now, because of the Queen. Don't you remember what happened to the last village she visited?"

He winced, and Belle knew that he remembered the stories of bodies piled five-high on the forest floor. She didn't think she'd ever forget it, not for the rest of her days.

"We can't give her what she wants, because Snow White's not here. Wherever the Hood is, whether you catch him or not, Queen Regina won't be satisfied. Please let them go. Tell her you're sorry, but we can't help her. This is still a sovereign nation; we have as much right to our autonomy as she does. You don't have to indulge her."

Guy sighed, "You've always been such a good girl, Belle, made as gentle as you were beautiful. So kind, and always trying to do the right thing. Marian was like that too, once. It drover her Uncle – it drove King Richard crazy."

His hand was resting on her hip now. "But if it's not the Queen, it will be the Dark One. Hood must be found. I can't… there are reasons you cannot comprehend, but know this: I cannot empty the jails. These next two days could be the making of me."

He smiled then, and pursed his lips as though he meant to kiss her.

Belle tried to slip away, under his arm, when he raised a hand to cup her cheek, but only succeeded in bumping against his chest. They'd danced their way across the throne room, and he had her backed against a table.

"Marian will never forgive you if he dies," Belle breathed. She hadn't wanted to say such things to him, not when she knew the words would strike him like a fist, but it sufficed to put some space back between them.

"I could… I could let Loxley go. Just Loxley, mind. But…"

"But what?" she begged. His face hardened, and she knew it was a lost cause.

"But only if you inspire me," he sneered, reaching for her chest.

Belle slapped his hand. "Absolutely not." If the Sparks heard even a whisper of such an offer, it would ruin everything she'd worked so hard to achieve.

"Just one hour? Twenty minutes?"

"What's happened to you, Guy?" Belle gasped, backing away. She put as many obstacles between them as possible, moving toward the doorway. "You've changed."

"He's simply been enlightened, that's all," said a second voice from the shadows. Queen Regina, awful and lovely in a glittering, black mourning gown, stepped into the light. "Happiness is for those with the strength to take it."

"Your Majesty," Belle curtsied, clumsily backing from the room. She nearly toppled a small lectern, scattering papers on the floor. "Please pardon me; I was just taking my leave."

The Queen laughed – a dry, hollow chortle – and tossed her hair over her shoulder. She flicked her wrist, and Belle smelled the slight tang of magic before the Queen flung her from the throne room and slammed the doors in her face.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Rumplestiltskin hobbled along behind the two soldiers after the pretty Sister took her leave. They made quite the pair: one thin and lithe, clad in heavy armor from the East and the other robust, wearing only a patch-work of boiled leather and heavy barding. The woman presented her credentials to the jailer and they were permitted to pass into the cells; a small burst of magic ensured that Rumple followed undetected, key grasped delicately between his fingers.

After a long trek past over-crowded holding cells – not much more than iron-barred animal pens – they stopped in front of a solid, oak door with a small viewing grill. It was the only cell with a single occupant, almost lost between a stairwell and a storeroom, in the furthest corridor, with guards posted on either end of the hall. The seclusion offered a small semblance of privacy, but ten of the Sheriff's men and several dozen of the Queen's stood between them and the exit onto the yard. Then another small army occupied the space between the jail and the gate. Rumplestiltskin was nothing if not over-cognizant of soldiers. Once outside the keep, it would be simple enough for a cunning soul to vanish into the Nottingham streets, but they'd be better off climbing the Forbidden Mountain than facing those odds today.

The soldier seemed to have noticed this as well, subtly observing the wardens as they walked. Little John just looked sour, passing a few small parcels of food through the bars when he thought no one was looking. The lighting was poor, but Rumple could make out the shape of a light-skinned man with dark hair easily enough in the shadows.

"Robin," Mulan called. "We're here to see you. Can you come to the door?"

Rumple heard the slight scrape of leather and straw on stone as the prisoner limped over, obviously hurting, and slid his hand through the bars. He caught a glimpse of the lion rampant etched in black on the man's arm, marking him as one of Richard's soldiers returned from war – a deserter or dishonorable, it mattered not.

"I'll live. For now, anyway," Robin groaned, taking his friends by the hand. "Who's the Friar? One of Tuck's boys?"

The other two looked at Rumple, as though seeing him for the first time, and he took the opportunity to make his introduction.

"Friar Lodowick," he bowed, recalling the name of one he knew in his childhood.

"Tuck was a good bloke," nodded Little John. "Fond of mulberries. You like mulberries, Wick?"

Rumple loosed a small stream of magic at the guards, sending them away, and put an end to the small talk. "Is that really the only question you have for the man carrying the keys?" he teased. Rumplestiltskin produced a slender, golden skeleton key from the sleeves of his cassock.

"Why are you helping me?" asked Robin. " Tuck told me once that cowardice is the chiefest of all sins among you Brown Friars, so why help me run away? Is this some ploy by the Sheriff? Or the Queen?"

"You're not a coward!" Little John insisted, clapping his friend about the shoulders. "King Richard holds all your oaths good as gold, and anyone who says differently is a liar."

Robin only nodded, looked to the Friar, and waited.

"No ploy at all, dearie," murmured Rumplestiltskin, sliding further into his cloak where his smile would not be seen. "Just an old man trying to do the right thing. Bravery is a rather fickle, pig-headed thing."

"You stole that key," Mulan observed. It was not an accusation, but intelligent brown eyes met and held Rumplestiltskin's gaze.

"It takes a thief," the Friar shrugged. "So what say you, Robin of Loxley? Shall we take our leave?" Will you lead me back to your camp so I can turn the lot of you into snails and stomp on you, he meant to say. Regardless of how Rumple chose to spend his next two days, the Hood would be in this prison at the prescribed time, even if it meant making a return trip after a goodly Friar slipped you the key; it was Fate.

"It'd be risky to go now, in broad daylight," cautioned Little John. "We'd have to fight our way back through the gates, and there'd be no coming back for the rest of them, not while the Queen's here hunting Snow White."

"Is the situation so dire already?" Robin asked, easing himself onto a thin, spare bench. Rumple sat next to him.

"We should wait," said Mulan. "Belle may still talk some sense into Sir Guy and put a stop to this."

"You have quite a lot of faith in that girl," observed the Friar. "And here I thought you'd be in a hurry to leave."

"She's earned it," answered Robin quietly. "And of course, Lodowick, your aide is most unexpected and appreciated. However, I fear this situation is more complex than you know. If I flee this cell, I will be openly hunted across the lands as an outlaw. I won't be able to come back to Nottingham, and the people left in the cells will be at the mercy of the Dark One and the Evil Queen. If we go, we've got to take everybody. And we can never come back home."

"Belle will know what's best," Mulan advised.

A moment later, the woman herself appeared. She really was lovely, clad all in blue, with bright eyes that put the Blue Star to shame. It was a pity she'd thrown her lot in with such fools.

"Well, how did it go?" asked Little John, impatient as Rumple now knew he must always be.

"Not well," the Sister – Belle – answered. She spared a nod for the Friar, a little surprised by his presence, Rumple noted, but accepted it easily enough. She embraced her friends in turn, and then explained her own side of things.

The Sheriff would not abandon the hunt for the Hood, which was precisely what Rumplestiltskin required of him, but neither would he send away the Queen – and that was troubling. Regina, wicked soul that she was, really would kill the whole of Nottingham, to the man, if she thought they were harboring Snow White. It was not, he had to admit, an entirely unreasonable fear on their part. They also theorized that the Dark One would do the same if the Hood was not found, and Rumplestiltskin knew that to be a slight over-statement. He'd only kill the prisoners, and the ones foolish enough to run at him with a sword. Whatever else his little band of thieves may be, they were not fools. At least, the Blue Sister was not.

"Could you not placate at least one party, dearie?" the Friar suggested, playing his part perfectly.

The Sister nodded emphatically.

"You've got to find out what it is that the Dark One wants," she urged them. "Give it back to him, and perhaps he'll show mercy."

"Unlikely," replied Robin.

"The Hood could confess," tried the Friar. "If the thief came forward, the Dark One might spare the rest. Surely, if he's such a man of the people, he wouldn't mind dying for them."

"And where does that leave us with the Queen?" snapped John.

Mulan, who kept mostly to her own counsel, finally took the opportunity to speak: "I may be able to get the Blue Brotherhood's help with that."

"You think they'll support you just because you've hunted Demons for them?" asked Robin incredulously.

"Well, she did kill the Yaoguai," bragged Little John, clapping her on the shoulder. "It's worth a try. But what could Old Sparky do to stop the witch?"

"Well, they—"

"I don't think that's wise," cautioned Belle. "Queen Regina is known to trek with the Dark One, as was her mother before her. If you give the Blue Brothers an excuse to get involved, they may turn this into a Crusade, and that would end with the whole of Sherwood at war with itself."

"You think the Blue Star would be worse than the Ogres," Rumple surmised. Oh, clever girl, not to trust in the capricious gifts of Fairies. Far too clever by half to take those stuffy old vows and wear an itchy habit the rest of her days. She was easily the least offensive member of her order that he'd ever met.

"It's a distinct possibility," Belle continued. "I don't see what alternative we have but to treat with the Dark One. Let's go to the camp, try to find whatever it is the Dark One's looking for, and hope we can make a deal with him. They say he always keeps to the letter of his contracts."

"And this is the only way to save Robin?" asked the stouter of the three men. "Sir Guy wouldn't give take a bribe? That's very unlike him."

"Sir Guy wouldn't be able to save everyone!" the woman's passion was showing, and the flush to her cheeks was lovely. "Nor would you, for all that you seem to have circumvented the cell locks."

"What aren't you saying, Belle?" asked the female warrior.

She demurred and stared at her feet. "He did make me an offer, but it's not one I can accept. He said he would free Robin if I... well, if I slept with him," she blushed.

Rumple's eyes pulled a tight focus on the woman then. She was small of build, beautiful to look upon, and kind. Better men than the Sheriff had defied the Queen for far more inferior specimens, Regina's Huntsman notwithstanding. The idea of that sniveling, simpering wretch crassly propositioning her made Rumplestiltskin's fingers twitch.

"And you denied him?" roared Little John. "Belle, this is exactly the break we've been looking for! With Robin free, we can use the key for a jail break this evening. It's perfe—"

"And what about me?" she panned. "Assuming Sir Guy kept his word – and there's absolutely nothing to ensure he would – what would become of me? If the High Spark ever found out my virtue was compromised, he'd cut off the supplies he promised to my people and drive us out of Sherwood. We're already starving, and arrived too late in the season to plant anything. The Blue Brotherhood's charity is the last hope we have."

"You could join the Merry Men!" he roared back at her.

"To what possible end? I understand what the Merry Men stand for, I really do, but these men are Knights. I swore never to give them any order that would bring them dishonor, and you want me to make career criminals of them"

"We don't steal for ourselves," Robin whispered, and the whole room stilled. The prisoner spared a glance for the Friar, and then continued, "The Merry Men rob from the rich and give to the poor, it's a noble cause worthy of a Knight. We could certainly use them."

"They're not pawns, Robin. They've lost everything, I cannot ask them to do that." She looked as sad as any soul Rumple had ever seen. "Fewer carriages brave the Castle Road every week, people are struggling – all of the people, not just mine. You can't eat the gold you've stolen, and you can't buy food where there's none to be had. We'd need three-score more merchants and a thousand more field hands along with coin to pay their wages to make a dent in the poverty, but all the able-bodied folk who might have plowed our fields will be dead by spring if we can't find food and shelter for them today."

"You're right, Belle, of course," Robin replied. "The Church's storehouses are the only way. If the Hood were to liberate them…"

"Well he can't, can he?" Mulan asked. "The Queen's Men are posted in triple-sentries. We're here, in the cell with you, with the _key_, and we can't even agree to a simple jail-break."

"I suppose…" Robin sighed, and Rumple fought to maintain his façade. It would not do to jump to conclusions; not before he recovered his property. "I suppose that a Hood is just a hood. It's clothing. Anyone could put one on."

"Don't say that," Belle begged, and she took Robin's hand. "What about your family? Friar Lodowick will tell you – won't you, Friar? There's always cause to hope, to be brave. That's the way of the Old Faith."

Rumple nodded. He remembered it well, but then the Faith wasn't Old when he'd been a boy.

"I think, dearies," the Friar began, flinching as Belle placed her small hand atop his larger one, "that you four had better tell me everything."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"Explain to me again why we've left Robin behind?" grumbled Little John as their small group – Mulan, John, the Friar, and Belle – made their way through the hidden paths of Sherwood Forest. "We had the key!"

"Because running away solves nothing," Belle admonished him. "The Dark One will still be hunting you and Queen Regina will still be searching for Snow White, which endangers everybody in Nottingham. Our only option is to find the thing the Dark One wants and give it back to him in exchange for our safety."

"Besides," Mulan added, "if one person escapes they'll increase security. Thanks to Lodowick, we've got the means to rescue everyone, but we'll only have one chance."

Belle tried not to roll her eyes. Her friend was a great tactician and a brilliant warrior, but she sincerely hoped the other woman knew that a jail break would only exacerbate the larger threats they were facing.

"We'll deal with that problem if we come to it," Belle reminded her. "For now, let's just hope we can avoid it."

"It might happen," Mulan replied. "We've got a little less than two days, by your reckoning, before whatever Guy is scheming comes to fruition. If a jail-break is the only option, then we need to be ready."

"You seem very sure of yourselves for two women so far from home," the Friar observed. Belle wanted to trust him, and Little John was satisfied that he'd proven himself by giving them the key, but she could tell from Mulan's posture that she still had reservations. In Belle's limited experience, it was best to trust her friend's instincts.

"This is my home now," Mulan snipped. "I am used to being doubted, but you will see."

"And you, Sister? What causes you to risk so much uncertainty so far from home? Surely you could just ask the Blue Fairy to fix everything."

He was looking at her expectantly, and Belle took the opportunity to examine his face. He had brown eyes and tan skin, with sharp cheekbones and deep wrinkles forming in his forehead. In the structure of his nose, the severity of his lips, he could be of any nationality. His voice, though, that spoke of the Frontlands. And everyone knew the Frontlands meant Ogres. She and Mulan were not the only ones far from home.

"I'm not sure I still believe in Fairies," Belle confessed. She realized too late how ludicrous that must sound, dressed as she was in her habit. "And I'm not a Sister, please. Not yet, anyway."

Belle grinned at him, and Friar Lodowick helped her over a difficult branch. "I lost my lands to the Ogres. My father, my fiancé, my friends… I lost everything. We evacuated the women and children in the last of our ships, across the sea, until it was only a small force remaining. But the Ogres kept coming, and Avonlea fell. There were no supplies, no reinforcements coming, so we fled."

The Brown Friars held with hope and a rejection of cowardice, above all; even the Blue Brotherhood considered it a sin to see an Ogre and not attempt to slay him. But a man from the Frontlands – the man whose heart still beat beneath the coarse, brown robes – would surely understand, at least in some small part. Some three centuries prior, they'd been all but crushed, and the Frontlands never forgot. She'd forfeit her city and run, but if you ran away to preserve what was important, what couldn't be replaced… No, Belle could not feel sorry for it. She'd done it to save all their lives.

"You escaped them?" He seemed mildly surprised by that.

"I realized… it was a foolish mistake, actually – a stray Ogre almost killed me – but I realized that they couldn't see well. Everything an Ogre does, it does by scent and sound. So I dressed the knights who opted to stay in dancing slippers and soft fabric, and we escaped the city before it was too late. We had to abandon anything heavy – anything noisy – which included most of our armor and weapons, and took only as much food as we could carry."

"Alan wrote a song about it," Mulan added. "I'm sure he'll sing it for you."

Belle cringed.

"Eventually we met a band of highwaymen on the road. They wanted to rob us, but we didn't have anything, and we started talking. If the Merry Men hadn't taken us in that day, we would've died in the forest."

"Belle, you and that sweet talk of yours have saved our skins more times than there's numbers to count," Little John praised.

It brought a smile to Belle's face to hear him say that, though she knew that they'd been a terrible burden at the start – injured, foot-sore soldiers with no real skill in survival – thrust onto the mercies of strangers. She'd vowed to learn real skills after that: to plant and sow, to make her own candles and soap, to spin wool or make rope. Aside from that, all she brought with her was what she could remember reading in her father's library.

"To answer your question, Friar," Belle concluded, "I'm here, in Nottingham, because it's the only place for us. What Sir Guy is doing is wrong, and Queen Regina is a threat to everyone. Doing the right thing in dark days… it's important. I'd think you would understand that better than anyone, coming from the Frontlands."

"And you'll sign away your freedom to the Sparks because that's the right thing too, dearie?" Lodowick scoffed. "I suppose you'll thank them for the opportunity. How very _noble_."

"You doubt me?"

"No one is that good, Sister."

"No," Belle agreed. "It's… a little selfish of me. It's just, I have a responsibility to the people I brought here. They abandoned everything they ever knew or loved to come to Nottingham and start a new life, and I… I have an opportunity to give them a chance, a real chance, with the Blue Brotherhood's charity. It's not so bad, is it, to sit in silence and pray and read? I'd be guaranteed bread, water and a warm bed every night, and my people could start living their lives again"

"If they were worth their wings, the Blue Order would have helped you for free," muttered the Friar darkly.

"Everything comes with a price these days, Lodowick," Mulan told him. "Or don't they teach you that in the Friary?"

Well what could he say to that? She was right, after all.

"I say fuck the Sparks and fuck the Phony King," Little John grumbled. "Let's drive out the lot of them and take back the country for King Richard!"

"Richard is a fool," the Friar spat back, and Belle feared for a moment that Little John meant to strike him.

"I'll not hear a word against the one, true King," John bellowed. "If the Phony King hadn't cheated him of his crown, none of this would be happening. It's the Dark One's fault, mark me."

"If the Dark One came to Nottingham, it's only because Richard invited him."

"That's a lie! At least King Richard's still fighting for the good in the world. Maybe you've not heard, Wick, but our King's the last man standing between the Ogres and the Midlands. You'd do well not to slander a man many consider their savior and saint."

"If he's so wonderful, why did your friend Robin ever leave his company? I know what his lion tattoo maeans." Lodowick challenged.

"Robin asked to be released so he could come home and help Marian lead, and Richard – in his wisdom – granted the request in exchange for all Robin's years of loyal service. As far as you're concerned, Sir Robin is King Richard's proxy, understand? So you'll do well to speak a little more respectfully."

"I believe the Sheriff sees things a little differently."

Belle saw Mulan ease her hand onto the hilt of her katana, preparing to intervene. She stepped between the slender Friar and the burly thief, a hand planted on each, before anyone had cause to draw a blade.

"Enough of this! John, the Friar is not your enemy. And Friar Lodowick, please – I know you see things differently, but please try to be respectful of the fact that Richard is still his King."

"But he—" Lodowick started.

"Hush now," Belle cooed, pressing her finger to his lips. They felt coarser than she'd expected, rough against her skin, almost the same calloused texture as his hands. "It's true that the Dark One's presence in these lands is what empowered the Blue Brotherhood to grow as it did. And it's also true that the King made a deal with the Dark One that brought him here in the first place. These are facts - the contract is available in triplicate in the Nottingham records, for everyone to see.

"But," she rounded on John then, "the Sparks wouldn't be half of what they are today with Richard here to check them. And the Dark One never styled himself a King – phony or otherwise. There's no use pretending that one man holds the answers or blame for all of our troubles. It's up to us now. Are we almost to the camp?"

"Aye," grumbled John, some of the tension leaving his body. "It's just the other side of that bluff, in the canyon."

"Alright then," Belle nodded, stepping back from the two men. The Friar, at least, had the decency to look ashamed. "Lead the way."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_I'll sing-a-song, it won't be long,_

_Of a lass who danced with Ogres._

_Soft-a-feet and very sweet, _

_That lass who danced with Ogres._

_They waltzed-a-field of mud and gore,_

_They twirl'd-a-bout the ballroom floor,_

_Then made-a-bow and saw no more,_

_The lass who danced with Ogres!_

_One word of caution ere we're through_

_To those who'd like to wear her shoes:_

_Make not-a-peep as you retreat_

_Through the halls of dancing Ogres!_

The man with the lute had not ceased to sing his song since the moment the Lady Belle entered their encampment. The Merry Men welcomed the Friar to their fireside easily enough, but he was watched – always watched – by the suspicious eyes around him. Rumplestiltskin, for all his resourcefulness, found himself at a loss.

He could slip away undetected in the blink of an eye, vanish into the ether and ransack their camp until he found the wand. They should consider themselves fortunate that he hadn't already ripped their very hearts out of them – it would be so easy to make it look as though they'd fallen victim to one of Regina's tantrums. But then he'd miss the fun leading up to the moment when he nabbed his thief in the prison tomorrow.

Honestly, he quite enjoyed the intrigue.

What could it hurt to wait? Wait until he knew with absolute certainty that Robin of Loxley, locked up by some technicality of betrothal laws, was the Hood. The Sheriff had, thus far, proved incapable of revealing Hood's identity; it was unrealistic to believe that could have changed overnight. It seemed fitting, to Rumple's sense of irony, that he'd take a turn for the petty, clap his old rival in chains, and not realize the magnitude of the man he'd managed to imprison until it was too late. That's usually how it went with these things.

In the end, it proved easier to bide his time. He still had that luxury: all of the morrow and what few hours remained of today, before his vision was realized. If Robin of Loxley managed to escape before the specified hour, then he was not the Hood after all, and he toyed with the idea of letting the rest of the Merry Men go free once the leader was brought to heel. They were quite entertaining, and Belle – sensible, kind girl that she was – wanted her friend to be saved (he wouldn't go so far as to say that she wanted him to be innocent). That niggled at him.

The Lady Belle, Mulan, and a small contingent of Merry Men led by John Little slipped away into one of the small cabins in the settlement almost the moment they arrived, no doubt to strategize. If they produced his missing wand, he could certainly make things easier on them. Did they really not know what the Dark One wanted, or was tha ta ruse as well? It seemed unlikely: wands were hardly subtle in their form and function.

A small, warm hand on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts.

"Friar, they're asking for you," Belle said, smiling at him with wide, blue eyes. They were the easy, guileless sort of smiles that a man could hoard all his days and still not get enough of them. "Do you mind coming in to speak with them?"

He didn't mind at all.

Inside the cabin – only slightly grander than a hut, obviously improvised by builders more used to living on the lam – a small fire burned in a shoddily built stone hearth. A woman sat on a small palate bed in the corner, propped up by hay bales and piled high with blankets. She continued to shiver, even after they shut the door, and Belle slipped her own spangled cloak from her shoulders and placed it over the girl. So this was the Sheriff's love, was it? Life as an outlaw had not suited her constitution.

"I wanted to thank you," the Sheriff's woman said. "The key you gave us will provide the means to recover my husband."

"Lady Marian, I take it?" the Friar bowed. It seemed they'd decided his golden key was theirs to keep, some sort of magnanimous gift which they chose not to examine too closely; trust a pack of thieves to make presumptions like pirates.

"Not a Lady now, thankfully," she chuckled, though it brought out a coughing fit in her.

"They want to stage a jail-break," Belle informed him once the coughing subsided. "Little John wanted to ask you something."

She looked expectantly to the other man. "Go on, John."

"May we… _please_," he stressed the syllable, "have the use of the key you offered us earlier?"

"And what of the item you stole from the Dark One?" the Friar inquired, dexterously running the key through his knuckles.

"You're free to help Belle look for it if you want, Wick," Little John grumbled. "We've decided to make better use of our time."

"Please don't do it, Belle," Marian pleaded. "Don't make a deal with the Dark One. He'll turn you into an Ogre!"

"He most certainly will not," Rumple snapped, unthinking.

"I don't think that's really what happens to the people who make deals with him," Belle told the Sheriff's woman, taking her hand. "What possible advantage could it give him?"

"That's borderline blasphemy," Marian responded. "I would have thought you'd feel differently, so close to joining the Blue Sisterhood."

"My thoughts are my own, and wearing a habit won't change them." There was ice in her voice. "Besides, I only want to return the property you stole. I hardly think he'll turn me into an Ogre for that, and if he can spare us all from the Queen…"

"He won't. He's evil," Marian stated primly. "He usurped my Uncle."

"I'm afraid that's the consensus, Friar," Mulan interrupted, sparing them all a lesson in political history. "We need to save our friend, and as many of the others as we can, without leaving it in the hands of the Phony King. May we use your key?"

"Robin's a good man," Marian added, struggling to sit up a little taller. "He's done nothing wrong."

"It's a fault by any reckoning to steal another man's wife, m'Lady," muttered Rumple darkly.

"Is it?" she snapped, stronger in her anger than she'd been previously. "And what of the Lady who refused her suitor's advances at every opportunity, only to be bound by a betrothal contract she never wanted! Should she be forced to accept a marriage which could only bring her misery? Robin never _stole_ me. I love him."

"You loved carelessly. You loved without thinking of your responsibilities. If the people hate their Phony King so much, why not rise to the occasion? You could have led them; you had that right, as the King's niece. None could think otherwise."

"Watch your tongue, Friar," snarled Little John.

"Perhaps you should go," suggested the Mulan. She put her open palm out expectantly.

Rumple slapped the key into the proud warrior's hand and took his leave. Let them try – let them bring their full force to the prison; the Hood would be there, at the prescribed time, and if this was the means of the bandit's downfall, so be it.

"I'm going with him," he heard Belle's voice say. "Don't look at me like that, he's entitled to his opinion. Besides, I've got to try to find whatever it is the Dark One's seeking, and Friar Lodowick may be able to help. He seems very knowledgeable."

The cabin door opened again. Rumplestiltskin slowed his brisk pace, and the blue-clad beauty looped her arm through his.

"I wish you hadn't said that," she whispered, leading him toward what looked like an improvised warehouse. "We'll have to get out of here before nightfall now, it won't be safe to tarry. Little John won't… he's not good at ignoring a slight, but the others aren't as disciplined as he is, and they'll have heard all of that. You were shouting."

"So you don't mind that I find your friends lacking in character, only that I said it loudly?" he teased.

"It's no excuse for unkindness," she chastised, but he noted that she was smiling. "Marian was very brave when she ran away with Robin, she gave up everything to be with him, and the Merry Men are heroes to the poor. They don't like to have their decisions mocked by an outsider."

"No one does. It doesn't mean they should be spared a lesson when the occasion calls for it."

Belle made an exasperated sigh, but he could tell she heard the truth in his words all too well.

"You didn't," Rumple realized all at once. "You could have given up everything and joined these brigands. Your impoverished knights would have eventually sorted themselves out."

"I suppose they would, eventually; but it would have come at a great price. I don't want anyone else to die for me, for my mistakes."

"So you chose the Sisterhood instead. Yes, you mentioned," Rumplestiltskin agreed, but he hadn't fully realized the scope of Nottingham's poverty or what she stood to gain.

Even in the worst days of the First Ogre Wars, a chest full of gold would have fed his village tenfold, for years. His fingers yearned for the wheel, eager to spin more securities and forget that humble cripple who'd often missed his own supper.

Belle would not have gone hungry in his village. She had the measure of each and every entity trying to manipulate her – that she knew of, anyway – and she'd rationally found a solution. Old Zozo would have had his work cut out for him, had their roles been reversed. It would be an utter waste of her talents, a slap in the face of the Gods, to let so kind and clever a soul stagnate in a Cloister.

"They want to work, you know," Belle told him. She smiled when she thought of the men and women she brought with her. A good leader, a true noble – now that was a rarity. "They just need the necessities for the winter, until the spring demand for field hands opens up more jobs. I try to think of the Sisterhood the same way – just a job, like my marriage would have been. I imagine most of them will sign-on with other armies, once they can afford new armor, or take passage abroad and seek out their families. This is the least I can do for them, after everything."

"Even though the Blue Brothers and Sisters are part of the problem? They caused this disparity, as much as the Sheriff or either of your blasted Kings. You said so yourself."

At that last condemnation she frowned. "I know. I… I know. But I have to trust they'll keep up their end of our bargain. And there's always hope for change."

"If that's all you want to accomplish, you could just as easily make a deal with the Dark One," observed Rumple.

"That would have ended with all of us labeled Demon-worshippers," Belle giggled, as though he'd been in jest. It took an odd sort of woman to laugh at the thought of the Dark One. "Besides, I don't think he wants to make a deal with me, I'm not important enough. My father sent word to him, but he never turned up."

"Then he's an idiot."

She laughed again, and gave him another of her smiles. They entered the warehouse, packed full with empty barrels and half-empty sacks of grain. Two small chests of valuables sat amid the lot, less secure than the foodstuffs, which at least showed signs of measure and rationing.

"Why do they hoard so much gold, these noble thieves of yours, if the people of Nottingham starve?" Rumplestiltskin asked her, curious to see how she would defend them now.

"There are too few merchants with too little supply; trust me, I've made the calculations. Even with this amount of gold, it won't feed all those in need. At best, it will be enough to help the ones who can't afford their tithes stay out of the prisons come planting season. The Ogre Wars cut off too many trade roads, except for the one that runs past the Dark One's castle, and the throne owns all the fields and trees – which is the same as saying that the Sparks own them, these days." As she spoke, she carefully sifted through the golden coins and small gems piece by piece.

"It's better that they steal the food and give it to the people, rather than give them coin they can't spend – or coin that will only inflate the prices at the market."

Rumplestiltskin's fingers fluttered over the hoard as well, but it was useless to a man who spun gold and valued magic.

"Maybe it's not a treasure in the conventional sense," Belle suggested when they discovered nothing of note. "Should we try the armory?"

"You think the Dark One wants a magic sword?" Rumple asked, amused by the suggestion only because she'd made it. There were certainly magical weapons in his collection, but no bow guaranteed to hit its target or axe that could fell a tree in one stroke – the only sorts of magical weapons a band of thieves was likely to stumble upon – came close to the value of a Fairy wand with a little Dust left in it. "I think his treasure will be more unique than a blade that doesn't need to be sharpened."

"Well we won't know unless we look," Belle nodded primly, extending her hand and pulling the Friar to his feet. Rumple stumbled a little, unused to so much touch, and brushed against her slightly; it felt… nice.

When they didn't turn up anything of interest in the armory or the smithy before the first chills of evening, Belle suggested that they return to the city. It wouldn't do to linger now, and Rumplestiltskin found that he trusted her judgment.

"Besides," Belle said with the most solemn expression he'd yet seen on her face, "I think we need to talk to Robin again, before it's too late."

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Belle found that she quite enjoyed the Friar's company. She hadn't expected to like him: in her experience, limited primarily to the Chromatic Orders, clerics were mostly concerned with helping the Church more than church-goers. But then, the Old Faith had never been very focused on judging people as good and worthy of the Stars' blessings. Instead, they preferred to focus on the small, every-day acts of goodwill and bravery that kept wickedness at bay. The only sin they would not tolerate – their one, cardinal sin – was cowardice.

A coward looked at the evils of the world, and decided to be selfish. A coward ran away, rather than defend the things important to him. It was easy for her to see why Friar Lodowick took umbrage with the Merry Men, and Marian in particular, but he still chose to help them, and that – she supposed – was the whole point. It struck her as refreshingly simple, compared to all the intricacies and restrictions of the Blue Order.

The chill wind bit into her bare arms the moment they cleared the forest, and Belle shivered.

"Is something bothering you, Belle?" Lodowick asked her, draping his coarse cowl over her shoulders. "You seem troubled."

"I was just thinking," she confessed, "about what we were discussing earlier. I hope you… I hope you can think well of me, Friar. I hope you don't think I'm a coward for choosing to flee the Ogres."

"Why would I ever think you were a coward?" he asked, sounding flabbergasted. She smiled at that and took his hand.

"No, it was nothing. Just… what you said to Marian. And I don't feel brave, really. I try to do the brave thing, and hope that bravery will follow, but sometimes I'm afraid the whole world can see right through me. I thought a Brown Friar would have preferred me to stand and fight, not sneak away in the night."

Friar Lodowick stopped walking and glared down at his cassock with more vehemence than she'd thought he could muster. "There is nothing brave about stupidity," he hissed. "Death is quick, death is easy. A blade slips between your ribs, and all your troubles fade. Living is hard, Belle. Living takes bravery. You can run away from war without running away from your responsibilities. I believe that. I do. There are more important things. There's family."

"You... you lost someone, didn't you? A wife? Or was there a child?"

"Yes, there was a child. A son. I… I lost him, as I did his mother."

"I'm so sorry," she replied, pulling him into a hug. It was stupid of her, thoughtless, so close to the city walls. No one could see her. But if they did… if they did, then she would tell them to sod off. She wasn't a sworn Sister yet, she could still offer comfort to a grieving man without penalty.

"Yes, well," whispered the Friar when she released him, obviously flustered. "No matter."

"We aren't as superficial as the dogmas on our sleeves," Belle surmised, pinching the hem of her own vestments with humor in her eyes. "We have layers. I think we'd better hurry, we don't want to be outside the gates after twilight." The sun was already reddening the western sky.

She took a few steps, but the Friar wasn't moving.

"Aren't you coming?" Belle grinned, and he made a bashful smile that suited him perfectly before resuming the slow shuffle of his feet toward the city.

As soon as they entered the town square, Belle wished they hadn't. The crowds were too thick to navigate, and the road to the castle had been completely cut off by a line of men in studded, black armor; intermixed with them stood the Crusaders – Blue Star guards brandishing steel morningstars that could crush bone – and several men clad in the crimson and gold of the City Watch.

"People of Nottingham!" a Blue Brother shouted over the crowd. "This man has been found guilty of the Ogre Heresy and crimes against the City. He must be purified before his taint corrupts us all! Firstly, he has been heard to claim that Ogres are not men, but natural beasts of the forest. We know this to be false; our Blue Star teaches us that the Dark One's demons have corrupted weak and cruel men, and that they may be slain by those with Faith and Trust!"

"All you need is Faith and Trust," the crowd murmured in assent, and their fear flavored the air around her.

"Secondly," the cleric continued, "this man was heard to profess that the actions of the Church are not divinely ordained by the Stars! He has stated, while drunk at the tavern, that a wanted criminal known as the Hood has more to do with the Blue Star's divine will than your Brotherhood. We know this to be false! I say to you now: the Hood is a wanted felon. The Blue Star does not condone theft. Any caught harboring this outlaw in defiance of the Stars will be punished just as severely as the man himself. It is a sin to be complicit with blasphemy!"

A herald, dressed in more practical clothes, took over for the High Spark. "You who pay your tithes and pray to the angels above have nothing to fear! We guard our flock here, in the heart of a land plagued by the father of all demons, and it falls to us to carry out the will of the angels on earth. To deny that will is to deny the sanctity of the Blue Star. What say you?"

"All you need is Faith and Trust," they murmured again, eyes cast-down into the mud. Belle trembled.

"And so this man is justly punished!" the herald shouted. Several Crusaders forced a middle-aged man, stripped of his shirt, to his knees. As the herald spoke, the guards began to scourge the man viciously.

"We stripe his back in remembrance of those who fall from Grace and forfeit their wings," the herald proclaimed as the beating grew bloody.

The crowd repeated their litany, many with tears on their cheeks.

"We salt the wound that he may remember this!"

The masses repeated their refrain again and again, and a pair of Sisters with gem-encrusted wings strapped to their backs produced a golden basin full of rock-salt. The priest took the first handful, whipping it into the sores on the man's back, and the crowd followed suit. The salt was meant to emulate Fairy Dust, Belle knew.

In the old days, tinkerers would sell Fairy Dust diluted with salt to increase from village to village, along with Magic Beans and other mythological things. Most had no more than a speck of real Magic in their entire stock, but the use of salt became symbolic none the less – a pinch thrown over the bride and bridegroom to sanctify a wedding, a bit tossed over the shoulder for good fortune. And here they were, many centuries later, rubbing salt into the wounds of a dying man.

It would have been her father's fate, had he survived the siege. He never made a secret of his belief that Ogres had nothing to do with demons, and Belle secretly agreed. Only humans and devils knew how to be cruel; Ogres were far too basic to contemplate such atrocities as what she witnessed that evening.

She could hear herself shouting, flinging herself against the crowd without progressing more than a few feet. It was hopeless; they'd packed the people in too thickly.

A pair of strong arms encircled her, and Lodowick must have dragged her away, because she began to regain lucidity in a secluded alley, far away from the scene.

"I'll change this," she cried against his neck. "When I'm a Sister, I'll work every day to put an end to this misery. It doesn't have to be this way."

The Friar only hushed her, held her, and let her weep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

The forest called to him, thick and lush, with game-trails and rabbit warrens crisscrossing the base of the mountains, where the air thinned and life grew sparse. If the people of Nottingham starved, it was only because they were weak. A wolf pack would not have suffered such indignities in the throes of such bounty; a predator would not have gone without supper.

He made his home in lands very similar to these, once.

"My Queen," the Huntsman bowed, coming to a halt in front of Richard's throne. Queen Regina claimed only the best for herself, and even he could not deny the appeal of the plush, gilded seat. "We have a problem."

"Well?" her Majesty demanded. "Spit it out." What remained of her devastatingly brilliant smile twisted into something cruel as she spoke.

"There was an incident in the prison – some people broke in, they overpowered the Sheriff and his men."

"Was Snow White among them?" she snapped, and her genie's face smirked at him from the large mirror propped at her feet. The Mirror loathed the Huntsman, jealous of any creature laying claim to the Queen's attentions, and especially loved to watch Her Majesty punish him.

"No, my Queen. There was no sign of the girl, nor any of her known accomplices." It wasn't a lie – not that he'd risk it for these miserable humans. Everything rotten in Nottingham, as far as he could tell, had festered and oozed from the hearts of its people.

Wolf entered the room to stand beside him, and he caught a whiff of fresh evergreen. At least one of them got to enjoy the world outside the city. There would be trouble soon, in greater quantities; the animal could sense agitation and fear as easily as blood or urine, and he would not have entered this chamber without reason.

The Queen continued to stare at him with wide eyes and a patronizing look on her face as she waited for him to continue.

"The perpetrators have been captured, and the Sheriff is recovering. I have your men checking the rosters against the cells to see if anyone else is missing."

"Well what's the problem, Huntsman? Don't tell me you're surprised at Sir Guy's incompetence?"

"One of the prisoners, the one you promised to the Sheriff, is claiming to be Hood. He says he will confess to all of the robberies, and that he can prove it was him, provided the others are granted amnesty."

The Queen rolled her eyes and laughed. "He's a fool and a liar, then. Another idiotic man taken-in by that horrid little girl's lies, just like you. You know what we do to liars, Huntsman. Bring me his heart."

He paled and struggled not to shout. The man hadn't smelled like a liar, and they failed to produce even a scrap of evidence leading back to the Princess, but the Queen was not interested in hearing about that. She had already returned to her mirror.

"There was one other thing," the Huntsman said, sorry that he wasn't able to avoid it.

"What?" she snapped.

"You told me long ago that I was never to harm a man bearing a lion tattoo," he explained, gesturing to the skin of his forearm. "This man has such a mark."

He'd never seen his Queen flinch before.

"You're sure?" she demanded, rising to her feet. The Queen stalked toward him, pointed nails running over the stubble on his chin as she tipped his face down to her own. He met her gaze, rimmed in black kohl with red paint on her lips and wisps of green woven through her locks, and tried not to vomit at the touch.

"Yes, my Queen."

"This is the same great romantic who wooed the Sheriff's intended away?" she raged.

"Yes," said the Huntsman, and immediately regretted it. "Would you still like his heart, your Majesty? I could take you to speak with him, if you prefer-"

She slapped him, and the room trembled in her fury. Sconces and suits of armor flew across the room, maps and parchments burst into flame, and the glass of her ornate mirror began to crack. Wolf growled and gnashed his teeth, but as her wails turned to sorrow the animal began to howl in mourning. He would have pitied anyone else, but never the Queen.

"No," Regina wept bitterly when the tempest subsided. Wolf backed up a few paces.

"No, I couldn't see him, I was too—" She caught herself on the arm of the throne and evaluated her reflection in the fractured looking glass. When she turned back around, Regina had turned back into the Queen again.

"Not his heart. I want to know what he looked like. Bring me his head."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The third time Belle spoke to one of the prison guards, begging admittance, Rumplestiltskin unleashed a little magic to grease their way. They arrived too late, it seemed, or perhaps the Merry Men were more cunning than he anticipated – which said a great deal about why he had such difficulty tracking their location in the first place. While the whole of Nottingham suffered through a public beating in the town square, the prison came under attack, apparently staging a jail-break.

If he hadn't been disguised as a Friar, Rumplestiltskin would have giggled with glee. Things were coming together nicely. Fate was a fickle mistress and her gifts burdened him greatly, but it was fixed in the flow of all that was, is, or ever would be that Hood would be here, in this prison, tomorrow morning, and this botched jailbreak had just quadrupled his list of possibilities. If he could spare Robin of Loxley and a few of the Merry Men as a parting gift for Belle, in thanks for her kindness, that would not be such a terrible thing.

They made their way through the first ranks of prison guards, packed in like sardines, and arrived at Loxley's lonely cell. Belle rapped her knuckles against the oak.

"Robin?" she called. "Robin, I need to talk to you."

"I thought you were the Sheriff," replied Loxley, with a hollow chuckle. "He'll be coming for my head any moment now. I've confessed to everything. You should go, Belle. You won't want to see this."

"Oh Robin," she sighed, reaching through the small, barred window to touch his cheek. "Why did you take it?"

"Take what?" Rumple's ears pricked at the increase in his heartbeat. He was lying.

"Magic. Why did you steal magic? You always told me a thief stole only for himself, that thieves were selfish, and that the Merry Men were better than that. But I went to the camp, Robin. Friar Lodowick and I looked everywhere for a clue, but we couldn't find anything remotely magical. I know you didn't lose it, you count every coin you touch – I've balanced your books."

"Well maybe someone dropped it before we got back to the camp," the man tried. "It could be lost in the woods."

"I thought about that, but it's an amateur's mistake. Your men don't just drop things. I think… I think we couldn't find it because it wasn't in the camp. It's with you – that's the only explanation that fits. Do Mulan and Little John know what you've done? Does Marian? Robin, you've got to give it back!"

Clever, wonderful Belle – of course she'd take the simplest, most logical path to a reasonable conclusion, and of course it would make perfect sense. That was a foible of his age and deals, he supposed: a tendency for over complication, even in matters that were otherwise straightforward. He'd never even considered turning out Loxley's cell.

And there was no denying now that Loxley was Hood. Your men, she'd said. _Your_ men. She knew all along? Belle never said… well, he'd never asked her, come to that. His fingers itched to wrap around the man's windpipe and strangle him. He could have settled for his wheel, but that too was beyond him.

"It's not that simple, Belle. Marian's sick. She'll die without help, and so will…" a strangled sob escaped him. "A Blue Brother told me that it was in the hands of the Stars, but the Fairies don't seem all that interested in helping anybody, if you ask me. So when I saw the wand, I – Belle, please, you have to believe me – I only wanted to save my wife. I never meant for things to get so out of hand."

"Then why not do it and be done? You could have returned it weeks ago, Robin."

"No, I couldn't! I had to make sure it was safe first, so I had one of the Sparks – one of the good ones – look at it. I was picking it up when the Sheriff's men caught me. The wand can save her, Belle, but without more Fairy Dust it will be all but useless when I'm done. There's no guarantee that the Dark One would still want it, but once Marian was better I would have tried anyway."

"I think you should give it to me, dearie," said Rumplestiltskin, exuding calm. He tried to keep the illusory Friar's face blank. "And we'll see if this can be undone."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Friar," Robin replied, easing himself back on to the little bench in his cell, away from the door. "I already gave it to Mulan, when the jail-break started to go sour. I told her everything before she escaped – she didn't lie to you, Belle, she didn't know before then. She should be back to the camp by now, and Marian will be well soon. If my life is the price of stealing magic for my family, then it's one I will accept. I knew the risks."

Tears welled in Belle's eyes, and she reached for Rumplestiltskin's rough hand with her little one.

"That's why you confessed to being the Hood," Belle surmised through trembling lips. "You're trying to make sure no one else has to pay the price for you now that the rescue mission failed. Robin, why didn't you tell me? I would have helped!"

"I'm sorry, Belle. You're not one of us, no matter how much I wished you would be, and your loyalty is to your own people. You could have ended it too, just by distracting Guy for a single night, but you wouldn't make that sacrifice. No more than I would sacrifice the best chance of saving my family. I couldn't trust you with this."

"I… I have to go now," Belle managed through the tears. "Thank you for trying," she squeaked, pressing a parting kiss against Friar Lodowick's cheek. By the time Rumplestiltskin could muster a reply, she had already taken her leave.

"Looks like it's just you and me now, dearie," Rumplestiltskin growled.

"Make your peace with it, Friar," sighed Robin Hood. "The Sheriff should be here soon."

"Dearie, it's not the Sheriff you have to worry about."

"No, it's not," a third voice interrupted. Rumplestiltskin hadn't heard the heavy thud of boots, but the scent of rich earth, pine, and musk coupled with a familiar voice told him all he needed to know. Regina's pet Huntsman had arrived.

"The Queen would like you to know, Robin of Loxley, that your confession has been denied. The identity of the Hood is, in fact, the Traitor Snow White, and the penalty for aiding traitors to the crown in word or deed is death. In this case, her Majesty demands your head. You will have ten minutes to make your peace. Is this man your priest?"

"No, I'm not," Rumplestiltskin matter-of-factly replied, casting a spell which rooted the Huntsman and the Thief in place, dulling their senses to the passage of time. He needed to think, but his mind had been invaded by a pair of bright, blue eyes.

Rumplestiltskin focused. Leave it to Regina to make a bigger quagmire of things that shouldn't have concerned her in the first place. He would have to ensure her goose-chase for the little Princess turned up more frequent distractions if these were the kinds of delusions she fabricated in her own mind.

It would be so easy to let the Huntsman take him, and serve him right when the thief inevitably escaped his custody. In the webs of fate, Rumplestiltskin had seen this man alive and well tomorrow, in this very prison; whether he was in chains or breaking them remained unwritten. But then again, humiliating Regina meant Rumplestiltskin would have to deal with a free agent and pin the bastard down again – not a game of cat-and-mouse that he particularly enjoyed playing.

When the Seer said the Sight was a burden, she meant days like this. Being bound by knowledge of events yet to pass was the kind of fetter that only a fool could escape, and that escape very often led to death. Belle wouldn't like it, either way.

Mind made up, Rumplestiltskin released the two men. It seemed the Queen required a head.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Belle had nowhere to run but the Cloister, and no one to comfort her once she arrived. She chose this life – used it to shield herself from people like Sir Guy and the Queen – and knew, in her heart, that the Sisterhood and everything to follow would be nothing more than a pattern of compromise. When she told Lodowick she was selfish, she meant it. She was, in her way. She wanted to help her people, but it was still her life – her choice in how to live it – and the Sisterhood seemed like the place where she could do the most good. Fairies were meant to help people, not stand idly by as their Clerics beat men bloody in their name.

She choked back bitter tears over the absolute unfairness of it all. But then life wasn't fair, was it? Not everyone got their happy ending. The only people who denied it were idealistic young girls who read too many books.

Robin placing the blame for his predicament – for the fate of every poor soul currently locked away in Nottingham – at her feet, as though her refusal to bed a man she didn't even like had been the deciding factor in their failure, cut her to the quick. She'd put Guy's words from her head, hadn't entertained his offer for a moment and hadn't allowed herself to indulge in fear. The Queen might have killed her, or the Sheriff might have…. But it hadn't mattered, as long as she remained confident that she'd done the right thing to help another. As long as a problem with a logical progression of steps and solutions existed, she could protect herself in its layers.

Well, it was all over now. If she was very lucky, the Sparks would never hear of her escapades and she'd make it through her vows tomorrow without being sick on the Mother Superior's shoes; Robin would stage another of his infamous escapes, or martyr himself for the rest of them – she wished she didn't care which; and her people would get the aide they needed to rebuild their lives.

Without thinking, Belle reached for the Friar's hand to anchor her. He wasn't there – of course not – nor would she be permitted to see or speak to Lodowick (or any man outside the Church) for the rest of her life after tomorrow. She didn't even get a chance to say a proper goodbye, to thank him for his troubles, and that was her most selfish regret of all.

She went so long without a friend – a true friend – that she barely knew what to do with the knowledge that she'd made and lost one all in one afternoon. He was older, but not an old man; perhaps she would find him again, when the Cloister permitted her to write letters in a few more years.

That thought, and the knowledge that Robin's confession should have put a stop to the Queen's hunt for Princess Snow, comforted her as she lay down to sleep. Someday the hurt would fade.

"Belle… Belle, darling, wake up," a familiar voice whispered. She felt a soft nudge at her ribs. Her eyes drifted open, still sore from crying, and a warm hand slipped over her mouth to stifle her scream.

"It's me. It's me. Belle, it's… it's Lodowick. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," the Friar whispered, removing his hand immediately.

"I thought you were the Sheriff," she hissed, struggling to regulate her breath and volume. She tugged the blanket up to her chin. The look of absolute horror on the Friar's face convinced her that his intentions had been nothing but pure. "What are you doing here? How did you sneak past the guards?"

"I have my ways," he demurred, wringing his hands. "I thought of a solution for you, to get you out of here and save your friends."

"I think Robin's quite capable of saving them. He has been all along."

"The Queen sent her Huntsman for his head," he told her. "She didn't believe that he was Hood; she's still hunting for Snow White."

"Then he died for nothing?" asked Belle. Her heart ached. No matter how Robin's words hurt her, his sacrifice should not have been in vain.

The Friar shrugged.

"No, not for nothing," she corrected, brushing the Friar aside as she drew herself to her feet. She was thankful that she fell asleep in her habit, rather than her nightgown. "He died for his family."

"But now we know where to find the Dark One's wand," Lodowick whispered. He draped a charcoal grey cloak around her shoulders. "It's at the Merry Men's camp. If you offer it to the Dark One, he may spare the innocents' lives."

"I'm supposed to take my vows in the morning," she blanched. "If I go… Lodowick, if I go then I can't ever come back."

Even as she tried to talk herself out of it, she pulled on her boots and collected her travel bag. It wasn't just her people any more, it was all of Nottingham – all of Sherwood – at risk. Queen Regina would rip the countryside to shreds looking for her step-daughter, and when she didn't find her she'd be furious.

"You could make a deal with him," the Friar suggested, handing her the small book on her nightstand. It was the only thing from home she truly cherished, full of silly songs and childish poetry. She packed it deep in her satchel.

"You… you could offer to go with him, to serve him instead of these Fairy zealots," he spat the words as though they burned him. "He'd make a deal with you, Belle. I know he would. And they say he always keeps his word, you'd come to no harm in his care."

"But how am I supposed to contact him?"

"Leave that to me," said the Friar, taking her hand. "I can reach the monster; our Order knows the old rites. He'll be at the city gates tomorrow, a few hours after sunrise."

"You're not coming with me," Belle realized. "I have to go alone, don't I?"

"I still have work to do here. Are you frightened?"

"Yes," she confided. They slipped into the hallway and tiptoed through shadows, encountering nothing but the midnight dew on their boots. When they cleared the Cloister walls and turned toward the city gate, they began to talk again.

"Just so you know… I'm not afraid because of the forest. Those types of danger don't intimidate me. I'm frightened of what might happen to me, and all the people relying on me, if I fail. Every time I try to be a hero, it ends horribly. I always say that my people need me, but they don't. What they need is food and shelter, and I needed to be the one to give it to them. But none of that matters if the Queen gets her claws into these lands. If she murders scores of her own people, what do you think she'll do in ours?"

"None of this is your fault, Belle. But for what it's worth, I believe you'll succeed."

"I could have tried to end this before it got out of hand, when the Sheriff propositioned me."

"He never would have followed through with it," scoffed Lodowick.

"Maybe not, but it was my choice to make." She squared her shoulders and met his gaze. He looked ancient in that moment, and inconsolably sad. "I could have endured it. I could have—"

"But you shouldn't have to. Belle, this burden is not solely yours—"

"Yes. Yes, of course. I'm sorry. You've done so much for us, Lodowick, I don't know how to thank you."

"Belle," he stammered, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. "You shouldn't thank me, you should hate me. You should tell me to go away, and never ever bother you again. I just asked you to make a deal with the Dark One. It's not too late, I can take you back to the convent."

"No," Belle comforted him, cupping his cheek. "You were right, this is our best chance and the Dark One's not so different from the Sisterhood. At least he doesn't pretend to be on the side of the angels. It's time to be brave. You've been a true friend to me, Friar. I'll never forget this. And I hope you'll remember me."


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The memory of Belle's sad smile as she bid Friar Lodowick farewell would haunt Rumple's dreams and darken his days for the rest of his life if this went badly. And yet they all had their parts to play.

Part of him, long dormant, hoped she'd found a passing carriage in the night and escaped the borders of Sherwood for a long, happy life. The other part, the dominant portion, wanted to guard her jealously. Someone to laugh with, someone to talk to… what she had been to the Friar, she could be to the Dark One, couldn't she? No. No, of course not. But she would be safe, he would never hurt her, and that was enough to steady him.

He watched, unseen, as she and another figure in a heavy cloak took up their posts near the gate. He said a few hours after sunrise, but she'd come early. Well of course she did, she didn't back down from anything. Rumplestiltskin waited another hour, bracing his nerves with a few mouthfuls of strong liquor, before beginning his masquerade.

He appeared in an eruption of smoke, every inch the consummate showman, bringing down lightning and claps of thunder that even Regina wouldn't be able to ignore.

"Oh Sheriff!" he called like a child summoning a dog. "I hope you have something to show me."

A troupe of men at arms, split fairly evenly between the Sheriff's red and the Queen's black approached him with drawn weapons, but a withering gaze brought them to a halt. The Crusaders were not so lucky, charging at him, screaming, and Rumplestiltskin transformed them all into blue butterflies before they got within striking distance. The second group of Crusaders to approach, noted the state of their friends, and thought twice about charging him. They stood glowering on the edge of the square.

Rumplestiltskin couldn't resist an impish 'Boo!' in their direction, and more than one morningstar clattered to the ground. He did so love to see them tremble for him.

"You there," commanded Rumple, conjuring a member of the City Watch in front of him. "Run and fetch the Sheriff, won't you dearie?" The man nodded dumbly and then stumbled off at a jaunt. Rumplestiltskin continued his measured strut toward the keep, on the opposite end of the square. He wanted to give Belle plenty of time to approach him before he reached the Nottingham jail.

"Excuse me, sir?" his wonderful girl called out, precisely on schedule. "Sir? Mister Dark One?"

"What is it, dear? I'm _rather_ busy," he replied, purring his words with as much gravitas and bravado as he could muster. "And the name is Rumplestiltskin."

She took a moment to absorb that, and to her credit she didn't laugh at the name like so many did. Belle wouldn't underestimate him.

"I came to ask you put an end to this man-hunt, Rumplestiltskin. The man you want, the one known as Hood, confessed to his crimes last night."

"Excellent," Rumplestiltskin preened. "Bring him to me."

"I'm afraid it's not that simple. Before that happened, the Sheriff abandoned his search and turned it over to Queen Regina's men. She's looking for her step-daughter, the Princess Snow White, and when Robin's confession challenged that belief she ordered him killed. Please, Rumplestiltskin, won't you help us put an end to this before anyone else dies?" She was beautiful in her sincerity. He loved the way she said his name.

"What possible reason could the Sheriff have to disobey me? We made a deal, and nobody breaks a deal with me."

"Please," the second figure – another woman, from the size and sound of her – begged. "Robin was my husband. Guy hated him, he—"

Rumplestiltskin banished Marian's cloak in an instant, revealing her for all to see, and the crowd broke into frantic murmuring. The King's niece was either a victim or a traitor, faithless or a saint, and nothing could have ignited them more, save perhaps for the unexpected return of Richard with a hundred Ogre heads mounted on pikes. She looked much healthier than she had previously, Rumple noted, but he had to school his features when he noticed the heavy proof of pregnancy over her stomach.

He gulped. A child explained more than he cared to admit about the recklessness of everyone involved in the making of this quagmire.

"It sounds to me, dearie, like you're a grieving widow lashing out at the world. Be glad your husband's death was quick. Go home. Raise your child. The man who stole from me will beg for it before the end."

"That's barbaric!" shouted Belle, fury in her eyes.

"Ha!" barked Rumplestiltskin. "Steal from me, you get skinned alive. Everyone knows that."

"No, they don't," Belle insisted. "It's wonderful to have an Ogre's strength, sir, but it's tyrannical to use it like an Ogre. When the Sheriff fails to produce the thief for your satisfaction, what happens next? And when the Princess Snow isn't here, what of the Queen? We have no desire to get involved in a dispute between two sorcerers. Stop this, please. _Please, Rumplestiltskin_. Your quarrel is with her, not with the people of Nottingham."

It thrilled and excited him that she refused to back down; refused to be frightened. If anyone would tolerate his company for a few hours now and then, it was Belle.

They'd crossed the square by then, and the Sheriff himself appeared by the castle gate, where the Sherrif charged forth to meet them.

"Don't listen to these sluts," Sir Guy spat. "They're liars. This one was engaged to be married, but she ran away with a known traitor."

He glared at Marian, and she paled. Some of the people cheered, but others booed, and atmosphere went tense.

"And this one seduced me. She used her feminine wiles to try to influence my office, but I saw through her! All this while she was pledged to the Blue Star, I might add. Their words are poison."

"That is a lie!" Belle championed.

"Guards, this woman is hysterical. Arrest her!" ordered the Sheriff.

Two greasy men, sweating from nerves and alcohol, pulled her hands behind her back and clapped her in irons. She looked frightened, and Rumple noted the severe look on the faces of the Blue Brothers and Crusaders gathered around.

"Not so fast," Rumplestiltskin trilled.

Regina took that opportunity to make her grand entrance. "Now Rumple," she chastised, "we both know that's not necessary. What's one little head to you? It's not as though you care for these peasants."

Her eyes paused for a moment over Marian, and if Rumple didn't know better he would have thought the Queen looked jealous.

"Ah, Regina… leave it to you to meddle where you're neither wanted nor needed. What brings you to Nottingham, dearie?"

"Cut the charade, Rumple. I want Snow, and you're going to find her for me. I know you guaranteed the brave Sheriff here that Hood would be in his jail today. He was supposed to find her for me, before you returned, but so far he hasn't really lived up to the hype. So go get her, and we'll make a trade between the two of us instead. I'd hoped to avoid this, but I'm sure I have something you want."

The crowd really jeered at that, and Rumple wondered if he'd have to add a riot to his list of troubles today.

"I—I tried!" Sir Guy announced, putting on a bit of theater for the growing crowd. "I tried to help! All you fools had to do was turn Hood over to me, but you wouldn't move to save yourselves. I did it to spare you all the wrath of the Dark One. You should be thanking me!"

Rumple shared an evil giggle with Regina despite himself. For all Sir Guy's uses, he really did make a wickedly spectacular fool of himself.

"Well, your Majesty, if Snow White is hiding here then I suppose we'll find out, won't we?" He snapped his fingers, freeing Belle of her restraints. "Follow me. We'll get to the bottom of everything."

He turned toward the jail entrance and sashayed away.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Belle felt herself shaking like a leaf as she forced her head to remain high. She would not be cowed by these twin tyrants who trod on everyone too slow to get out of their way. She took Marian's hand without thinking, and pulled her along with her.

She wished Lodowick was here. The Dark One arrived, as prescribed, but the Friar had not, and she hoped that he had not done something foolish for her sake.

Sir Guy pushed past them, leering. It took an iron resolve not to slap him across the face, so she grasped Marian's hand tighter instead. The other woman winced, and Belle loosened her grip.

The Crusaders would come for both of them, if they survived. The Sheriff's little performance all but guaranteed it. She had nothing left to lose now, so it was down to her to be strong. Perhaps she should not have asked Marian to come here, but without Marian's testimony they had less than nothing.

Belle tried to push down her doubts. **There was a proverb about that in her little book of poetry, tucked into her bodice, next to her heart: ****_doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt_****. She wasn't about to let doubt betray her now.**

The Dark One strutted through the prison as though he owned it, and Belle took a moment to observe him. He had a compact form clad in dark spikes and sculpted leather that gave him a shape reminiscent of a spider. His hair hung in curls, his teeth appeared jagged and yellow, and his skin lingered somewhere between gold dust and swamp slime; still, under all of that, he retained the shape of a human, and that gave her hope that humanity would follow.

When they entered the area surrounded by the largest cells, packed thick with petty criminals and those who could not afford their tithes, they stopped. Queen Regina looked around expectantly.

"Waiting for Snow White to make her grand entrance?" the Dark One teased unkindly. Belle shuddered at the audacity of it. It took confidence bordering on the insane to speak so to a Queen.

The Queen fumed silently.

"Carry on, Sheriff," Rumplestiltskin nodded. "Which of these unwashed wretches is my thief?"

"I… The Traitor Snow White…"

"Is not here," he snarled. "I take it you've spent these last few days in vain. Oh dearie me, that's not very good news, is it?"

"It's their fault!" shouted the Sheriff, gesturing wildly around the room. Two guards dragged forward Little John and the Merry Men captured with him. "This lot broke in and tried to undermine me. They'll know where to find Hood, you'll see."

"A fair point," giggled the sharp, little man. "Who put you up to this? Was it the Hood, perhaps? Is he among you now? Come now, I'll only torture the ring leader a little bit. Or perhaps I should simply execute the lot of you, though I prefer the fine point of a dagger to a meat grinder. Seems a shame to use a sledge hammer to rearrange the dinner plates."

"The Friar did it," Little John growled. Belle's stomach clenched. "He gave us a key to the cells, and we broke in to save our friend. He was innocent. Guy only arrested him and murdered him."

"He was executed for treason," Regina snapped.

"It's only treason if he does it your kingdom, dear," corrected the Dark One. "And this Friar, where is he now?"

"Friar Lodowick is gone. He left two days ago," Belle lied, hoping for the first time that her friend would not return.

The Dark One rounded on her.

"And was the man who confessed, in point of fact, the Hood?" he asked Little John. "Speak up now, poppets, this woman's life may depend on it."

He wrapped his claws around Belle's wrist, ever so gently that she almost didn't notice, and guided her to stand next to him.

Little John looked between her and Marian with sad eyes and shook his head. He wouldn't do it, Belle realized. He'd weighed the risk, decided they were all as good as dead, and wouldn't take the people's hope down with them. In Little John's mind, the Hood had to escape – as he always did – and the legend would survive. He didn't know they'd found the wand.

"A Hood is just a piece of fabric," said the large man. "Anybody could wear one."

"Sheriff, it seems you've failed me and your city. You have not recovered my property, and you have not identified my thief."

"Excuse me, please," said Belle, tugging her wrist free of his claws.

He released her as though she were made of glass, and Belle turned to squarely face him. "But the man that they executed _was_ Hood. John, I'm sorry. I know you're just trying to protect Robin's legacy, but this is bigger than him and it always has been All of Sherwood will suffer if we don't resolve this today."

Belle tugged Marian forward.

"This is Robin of Loxley's widow. Marian, tell him what you told me."

"Don't!" roared John, but a look from the Dark One silenced him.

"Robin…" Marian began, edging further away from the Sheriff. "Robin only stole from you to help me. I was ill, and the baby's coming soon. The healers thought we might both die, so he looked for a way to save us."

Belle had never been more proud of her friend.

"He stole this wand," Marian continued, presenting the slender rod for inspection. "He didn't know who he was stealing from, only that we needed magic. And when… when it all fell apart, he would have confessed his crime to save everyone. He was a good man. I wanted to come here today to return this and beg mercy for me and my family, but I can't. I can't… because Robin is dead. They beheaded him, against all law and decency."

"You think I would have done less?" Rumplestiltskin asked incredulously.

"I think you are known far and wide for keeping to the word of your deals," Belle said, taking over before the stress became too much for Marian.

"The deal you made with the Sheriff was for this wand and the identity of the thief who took it. We gave you both today – where Sir Guy failed – so make a deal with us instead. Spare these people – everyone here – and… and please know that there are many here who consider you the ruler of these lands since Richard left. Rumplestiltksin, if you've any ambition to rule at all, please send the Queen away and punish the Sheriff for what he's done."

"Very well," replied Rumplestiltskin, snatching the wand from Marian's hands. "I'll offer you the same terms I gave the Sheriff."

"No!" shrieked the Queen. "Snow White gave them that wand. They're lying to you! Where is she?"

"She's not here, dearie. Do try to keep up."

The Queen looked frantically between Marian and her Huntsman, full of grief and rage, when a sudden, sullen silence took her. "But I cut off his head."

"Whose head? His head?" the Dark One asked, feigning ignorance. He snapped his fingers and Robin materialized whole and well, in front of them.

Belle didn't have time to wonder how it happened, all she knew was that Marian flung herself into his arms and the Merry Men and citizens of Nottingham crammed into the cells let out a celebratory yell. At the same moment, the Queen recoiled violently and vanished from the room in a cloud of smoke. Her guards retreated after her, leaving the disgraced Sheriff, his bailiff, and only a few Watchmen. Belle tried not to take too much pleasure at Guy's face as he realized that the man who bested him in love had also bested him in skill. He looked like a broken man.

"Robin, how—" bellowed Little John, stepping forward.

"Lodowick saved me. He tricked the Queen's Huntsman into taking the head of a man the Sparks killed instead. Then he sent me away, I don't know where – it was too dark to see. And now I'm back here."

Marian and Robin shared a long kiss and the Merry Men whooped in victory.

"Touching, dearie," sneered the Dark One. "But I'm afraid we still have a problem. You stole from me. My bargain with the Sheriff was your life in exchange for the safety of Nottingham – a deal I just made with these fine ladies. There's still a price to be paid."

Marian began to weep in earnest and Robin stilled. Belle watched with tears in her eyes as acceptance spread across his face. Lodowick would want her to be brave. Lodowick would say something inspiring, like 'buck up, dearie.' _Dearie_?

A smile blossomed on Belle's face.

"All of Nottingham?" she clarified. "And Sherwood too? I just want to be clear: you'll protect them, keep them safe… from the Ogres and the Queen and the even the Sparks. Does that extend to seeing that there's enough food?

The Dark One's expression was unreadable, but his huge pupils expanded and his eyes darkened as he nodded in the affirmative.

She screwed her bravery to the sticking point and stepped forward. "Then take me instead."

"Deal!" he giggled.

**Fin.**


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